Sat Upon
by Marzi
Summary: Mr. Todd is in a strange situation, and Mrs. Lovett helps him.


A/N When I thought of this, it was supposed to be short. Oh well. :) This could be seen as a TddLovett fic, but I never really intended it to be that way. Pardon any OOCness, I did the best I could with my little idea. Enjoy!

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Mrs. Lovett's was contently seated in her large armchair in front of a fire, the shop had closed up hours ago. She had stayed up cleaning everything and preparing some pies to be baked once she woke in the morning. Another reason she was half-asleep in her chair rather than in bed, was that Mr. Todd had yet to come down. 

In fact, she forced her eyes open, she couldn't even hear him. He was always pacing when there weren't any customers, and she had gotten quite used to the sound. She was even learning to judge his mood by the rhythm to which he walked. Sudden stops between the steady _thump_ of his feet indicated he was frustrated, and best left alone.

Not that he could be left alone for too long, or he wouldn't eat or rest. Actually, Mrs. Lovett had never seen him sleep, but always assumed he got around to it eventually. No one could run on no sleep at all, not even Mr. Todd.

Smiling, she pushed herself up from her chair and headed for the door. Maybe today she could catch him in the act of rest. Toby would be sound asleep, so it was unlikely that she would be missed. Her feline smile grew as she climbed the stairs up to his barber shop.

Opening the door she quickly removed her smile. Mr. Todd was very much awake.

He was facing the door, standing aside the chair and actually clutching it's arm with both his hands. She thought he must have been deep in thought, but his eyes snapped to her the moment she appeared in the door.

She let out a soft 'oh' but all he did was stare at her.

The staring match continued until Mrs. Lovett decided to close the door, thankfully breaking eye contact. "So, staying up late Mr. T?"

Sweeney continued to stare, and she began to wonder if he actually knew she was in the room. "Hello?" She asked loudly. His blank stare immediately turned into a scowl. "Oh, so you is awake."

"Of course." His voice was snappish and quick, but he quickly grimaced, making his tone softer. "Mrs. Lovett-"

"Oh!" She put her hands on her hips. "Now he comes to say it." Not seeing the confusion on his face, she kept talking. "I've done everything I can to help you Mr. T, and the least you could do is-"

"Mrs. Lovett," he growled, hands tightening on the arm's chair, knuckles actually turning pink against his pale skin. "_What_ are you prattling on about?"

Her arms crossed her chest this time. "Don't think you get away wif this forever."

"Get away with _what?_" He leaned forward, almost across the chair.

"What are you doing being so quiet like up here luv?" She asked, quickly changing the subject. Apparently he was still blind to common manners. Though thankfulness was probably something he didn't have in abundance.

Sweeney swallowed, and the effort was visible on his face when he removed his anger. "Can you help me?"

"Wh_o_t?"

He gritted his teeth, repeating himself louder. "I said can you help me?"

"With what?"

His eyes stayed forward, but he was now looking over her shoulder instead of at her face. "I sat on one of my razors."

She bit her cheeks to keep from smiling. "What darling?"

"You heard me woman!" He snapped. Taking a deep breath he looked her straight in the eye and continued. "Could you just pull it out?"

"Good Lord, you still got it stuck on you?" Mrs. Lovett's arms dropped at his statement.

"_Yes._" His voice was a hiss, and one of his lips was curling.

"Oh, well," she moved around the chair, noticing a spot of blood on the cushion, and came around behind him. It was a little strange now that she thought on it, realizing he hadn't threatened her with one of his friends at her previous bold statement. Standing behind him now, she clicked her tongue. "Mr. T, how can you stand this?"

Blood had run down his entire left pant leg, and all she could see of the razor was the slight glint of a silver handle.

"I can _stand_ it much better once it's gone."

Her hands resumed their positions on her hips as she examined the wound. "How did it happen?"

"I left it lying after I cleaned it from my last customer- _Good Lord woman, what did you do?_"

"I pulled it out." She turned the crimson coated blade in her hand, finally allowing a smile at the situation. The absurdity of it all was enough to make her want to laugh.

Turning his head to see over his shoulder, Sweeney eyed the object of his misfortune. "I'll have to clean it again."

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Lovett dropped the razor from his line of sight.

"You heard me," he snarled. "Now leave it and get out."

"No, this friend did a nasty number, and I intend to see the stitches through." Going over to the small table that occupied the room, she put the bloodied blade down and took a clothe to wipe her hands. "Take off your pants." Despite the fact she couldn't see him, she could feel the shock coming off of him. She turned back around to face him and almost grinned at the horrified look on his face. "You heard me luv, now you do it or I do."

Trying to regain his composer he managed to reply with a half whimper, half snarl, of a 'no'.

"Yes," she said, feeling a smile come onto her face. "Now I'll be back with me sewing kit. They best be gone 'fore I get back." At the door she paused, letting the grin bloom on her face. "An' I promise to enjoy it much more than you will."

Her advances had never been so blunt before, and as she opened the door she swore she could hear him gulp.

Once she was gone, Sweeney mutter "bloody woman" under his breath. Suddenly alone in a cold room with only the company of a stinging wound on his ass, he began to reflect on where his situation had gone truly wrong. It was waiting for Mrs. Lovett's help, he decided. In another moment he would have been perfectly capable of removing the razor. Wouldn't he? It wasn't like the pain really bothered him. With a dejected sigh, he detached his hands from the chair and reached for the waist of his pants.

She would have enjoyed removing his clothes far too much. There had only been slight indulgences on his part before, and she probably realized this was the only time she was going to see him half dressed. Well, with the pants being the missing half. A few nights ago she had yanked a bloodied shirt off of him after a particularly bad customer. The blighter had turned his head to tell him something the moment he had come for the kill. He hadn't really minded then, but Mrs. Lovett's had been preoccupied with the bloody mess over him. Hadn't she?

_You were a bloody mess then too._

A frown came onto his face when he thought about that day. She was acting the way she had because of the mess, wasn't she? Or, for all her flirtatious nature, was she actually afraid of seeing him with his clothes off? There wasn't something _wrong_ with him, was there? His eyes darted to the broken mirror in the corner of the room, but quickly snapped forward at the sound of door opening. He hadn't even heard her on the stairs! That woman moved around far too quickly and quietly for his liking.

Not that he hadn't done his fair share of frightening entrances. A faint curl at the end of his lip showed how amused he was of the memories. The sound of her sewing kit opening brought him back to reality, and he nearly had to gulp down another desperate breath of terror.

"Alright luv," she began, not noticing his nervousness. "Left or right, or right to left?"

"The way you write, I don't want you going half way and then doubling back."

She gave a huff of indignation before snapping her sewing kit shut. "Alright, I'll need to clean it first." Mrs. Lovett handed him a gin bottle, which he cautiously took.

How much more did she intend to touch him? Was the gin to null pain or make him drunk? Seeing the suspicion on his face she rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to poison you Mr. T!"

Instead of snapping back that wasn't what he had been thinking, Sweeney took a large gulp from the open bottle. Toby was going to be disappointed when he woke up, but Sweeney felt _he_ needed it more now. He was going to go through a long, awful, experience with Mrs. Lovett and perhaps being drunk wouldn't be one of the worse options.

"What are you doing?" He asked, feeling a hand and a wet cloth on his calf.

"Cleaning you up, blood soaked right through your clothes."

"Start with the bloody problem, I can clean myself."

He clearly heard her huff of annoyance, and almost regretted snapping at her. But the thought of her hand slowly creeping up his leg with a clothe made him take another swig of gin.

Giving a hiss of pain, Sweeney was fairly sure she didn't have to be so rough.

"Hurt luv?"

"You don't have to help me." He growled.

"Oh I doubt you'll do anything about this once I leave. I don't need to be put to work over stains on your pants as well as all those shirts you go through." Mrs. Lovett also reflected on the fact he had indeed asked for help; though he hadn't known what the full extent of what her help would be. And he had told her to leave, but that didn't really matter now.

She did the laundry? _Of course she does the laundry_, Sweeney chided himself. Otherwise he would have to get new shirts every week (or day, depending on the customers) and she would have had no right to pull that shirt off him. Why had she been so quick to get it off him anyhow…?

"Mr. T…"

_Admit it woman, you wanted this to happen all along! You want me in this position!_ Her gave a silent curse for his terrible choice of mental wording.

"What?" Sweeney asked, realizing she hadn't finished her statement.

"How is it that yeh place men in two categories, but yerself in a third?"

The question caught him off guard, and his mouth simply hung open. There was a quick, dull, pain in the vicinity of his wound, and his mouth clicked shut.

"You don't need to distract me." He huffed, getting a few stitches was hardly a painful process. At least, not for him.

"What makes you think I don't want to know the answer?" The first stitch she made was not a kind one.

He wet his lips with his tongue, feeling oddly parched. Ignoring the gin bottle, he delved into his thoughts for an answer. "I don't."

"Oh, and what about you is in any particular proper place?"

_At least she didn't put me in _Turpin's_ category!_ His grip tightened on the bottle, feeling the old and new thoughts and desires for revenge sweep through him.

"Mr. T?" She asked, pulling her stitch tighter.

"Nothing."

"Ah.. So your thoughts ain't perfect."

"Nothing's perfect." He spat out the word as if it disgusted him.

"Don't be so quick, your friend is going to leave a perfect scar."

Sweeney discontentedly realized the bottle was already less than halfway full. If it had been full in the beginning the clarity of his thoughts was astounding. Not that he would have these particular thoughts to begin with. The very slight blush was quite noticeable on his pale cheeks. Not that anyone was around to notice it, aside from Mrs. Lovett who was occupied elsewhere.

Maybe he was drunk.

_This is your fault Mrs. Lovett!_ Even though he had been the one to leave the razor on the chair. Opened it had shone rather prettily in the gloom…

Mrs. Lovett had glowed like an angel when she told him she had saved his razors, and when she thought up baking people into pies. She had been perfect in those moments, but he had been too distracted to notice.

"Are you done yet?" He didn't bother to get rid of the nastiness in his voice.

"Unless you want sloppy stitches, you best hush up."

Sweeney swallowed another nasty remark, and settled for eyeing the gin bottle distastefully. She _had_ poisoned him, with unnatural thoughts.

Then again, instead of leaving after pulling the razor from his left buttocks she had stuck around to stitch him up and clean him. Should he be unnerved, or a little worried about what she was thinking? _She is thinking nothing_, he thought forcefully. _You're playing tricks on yourself._

Mrs. Lovett had only ever helped him, hadn't she? Even with her addition of unnecessary affection. The situation was decidedly different than ones they had been in before, but she was putting his care above petty thoughts.

Because those types of thoughts _were _petty, but Sweeney knew he would never call anything about the woman petty, not out loud. He was sure she would never tell anyone of this encounter, even if he didn't threaten her. He had threatened her frequently before, and at that moment he couldn't quite understand why. No doubt in the morning he would wonder why he had let her live. His thoughts did tend to jumble, as of late.

Like at that moment, they were jumping around frantically, trying to distract him. It wasn't pain he needed distracting him, it was from her, his thoughts however did not comply to his wish. She had been a good seamstress, he remember, from his days as a 'proper' tenant. He didn't understand why, with the pie business so bad before he showed up, she hadn't opened a different shop. He was sure her clothes would have been lovely…

But there was that dead husband, Al something. Berto? But his name didn't matter, because one of the things Sweeney did pick up from Mrs. Lovett's rather long winded conversations, was that she missed her husband. The man had enjoyed eating apparently, maybe the pie shop was to remember him by? Perhaps that was why she still went by 'Mrs.', though he never really heard fondness in her voice when she talked about him.

Benjamin Barker didn't remember Al-what's-his-name very well, maybe Mrs. Lovett was being sarcastic to a dead man she really didn't like? He dismissed the thought quickly, she could never dislike someone enough to hate them into their grave, could she? _(What about Lucy, she could care less about her)_

"Eleanor." It had slipped out, with all of his thoughts tumbling around in the past. It wasn't meant to be heard, and he actually held his breath, hoping she wouldn't have heard it. But she did.

"What was that Mr. T?"

He noticed a decided halt in her stitching. Giving the gin bottle a scrutinizing look (there was something wrong with the bottle, not him) he actually answered her question. "Nellie, s'what I used to call you." It was a half buried, mostly forgotten memory. His thoughts in prison had been of Lucy and Johanna, and most others had been stripped away from his maddening mind. An annoying few (though the judge was in the annoying category, he was not a part of this particular set) had managed to stay with him. Like stopping by the pie shop and getting a bite to eat before work. Calling, 'Good morning Nellie, business good?' over the counter.

"That yeh did." Her hands shook slightly as she sewed a knot at the end of the gash.

Feeling the slight tremble in her hand Sweeney hurriedly gulped down the remains of the gin bottle.

"Well I've finished Mr. T, you can wash your leg and there's some pants here for you."

He managed to just nod his head, leaning heavily forward on the chair. Snatching her kit, Nellie hurried out of the room.

Looking over his shoulder, Sweeney noticed the needle, with a bit of extra thread, still affirmably attached to him. "Bloody woman."

Quite unfortunately for the barber, gin and blood loss could make anyone feel a little faint. All Sweeney managed to do was pull up his pants before passing out on Nellie's dead husband's chair. (Al something, he was sure of it)

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A/N Notes at the top and bottom! -insane giggle- It was SO much fun to write this. Pardon the little scene were Mrs. Lovett expects an apology, or thank you, I couldn't think of a way to get rid of it and originally I was going to have him apologize.. oh well. 


End file.
